


Shawn Takes Another Shot

by sebviathan



Series: in between the lines (there's a lot of obscurity) [11]
Category: Psych
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, Episode: s07e03 Lassie Jerky, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lassie's the one with a fucked up leg and shoulder but Shawn's the one that needs comfort, M/M, also Lassie's a nice guy when he's high on morphine, it's all his internal agonizing and guilt really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6718075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But first, Lassiter does, and far more literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shawn Takes Another Shot

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't already (or even if you have), I recommend reading [Lassiter Takes a Shot in the Dark](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5775046) before reading this. 
> 
> This is a sort of companion fic and not only has a handful of direct parallels to the first fic, but also a vague reference to the events of it.

A bear trap to the leg and a bullet to the shoulder, both in the span of a mere 24 hours— _jesus, poor Lassie._

It was bad enough, seeing the footage of the guy suffering like that, _clearly_ believing he was going to die, red-rimmed eyes and all. It was bad enough having to believe even for that short time that Lassiter _was_ dead.

Maybe Shawn didn't _really_ believe it, he can't be sure this much later, but he knows the facts were there. And he knows that he never fucking wants to deal with that ever again, that if that incident with Despereaux was an indicator of _anything_ then he can't let anyone he cares about die before him.

But that's all in the back of his mind—or at least he makes an effort to shove it back there.

What he does actively think about is how Lassiter inarguably got the worst of it back there, how the guy puts up with enough just dealing with _him_ alone and now... _christ. Jesus Christ, the poor fucking guy._

Without any other way to mentally articulate how shitty he feels, those words repeat themselves in Shawn's head with little variation. Mainly as he and Gus are riding in the helicopter aside a wounded Ed Dixon, away from the cabin and to the hospital. Especially with nothing left to film, no reason left to keep holding the camera up—the camera comes down, and everything feels a lot more real and less cinematic.

That only increases when they land at Santa Barbara General, and Shawn doesn't know whether he wants to follow Lassie with Jules or stay with Ed to make sure he's alright.

Then Gus seems inclined to go with the latter, at which Shawn decides it only makes sense that he follows—Lassie has his partner, it's not like he's alone. And considering how much he openly praised and admired Ed back at the cabin, he'd probably _want_ someone to go with him, wouldn't he?

Yeah.

For the hours that everyone who was injured by Serbs or otherwise gets surgical attention, everyone else talks to the police. That is, the police above _their_ police—the feds, mostly. It's long and repetitive and easily Shawn's least favorite part of any high-profile case, but at least it's some kind of distraction.

Afterwards, everyone tells him and Gus to go home and get some rest—the feds, Vick, the doctors... Even Jules, who merely kisses him on the cheek and tells him she'll be home tomorrow.

"Hey, you need rest too—"

"Not getting rest is pretty much my job, Shawn. I wanna stay here with my partner while he recovers, alright?"

He almost tells her that if she's staying then _he's_ staying too, that they can both sit by Lassie's bedside—

But then Gus is by his side, waving Jules goodbye one second and practically dragging him away the next, talking about getting to a restaurant because he's _dying_ for something other than hospital food.

"You had two meals' worth of dry-rubbed venison _this morning_ , Gus." And yet as they walk out of the hospital, it almost feels like none of that even happened.

"Well, nearly getting killed by Serbians gave me an appetite."

 

*

 

Shawn sleeps in the Psych office, and drives back to the hospital to meet up with Juliet the next day before she plans to leave.

He ironically finds Kate and Chavo first, and spends some time in their room while they talk about how disappointed they are that none of their footage can legally be entered in a film festival—since it's evidence of several crimes and technically property of the federal government.

Well, it is if they want the case to be as thorough as possible in order for them to both get retribution for getting shot. But Shawn personally doesn't want the footage to go to waste either, he still wants to make his "documentary about a failed documentary"—and before he knows it, he's promising the two of them that he'll do all the editing himself and do it justice.

Soon after, Kate makes an uncomfortable comment about being sex-deprived, which Shawn takes as his cue to leave.

On his way to Lassiter's room, however, he's stopped in the middle of the hallway.

"Shawn!"

"Jules—"

"You know I had my car dropped off here, right? I didn't need you to pick me up or anything."

"Yeah, well, I had a psychic feeling that Lassie would want to see me."

"Really?" She gives him an odd look. "Well, he didn't say anything, and he's napping now, so... If you want to wait in there, be my guest—"

"Nah, I'll just come back later," he says, putting a hand on the small of her back and walking her down the hall.

 _Has he mentioned my name at all since he got out of surgery?_ He wonders and almost wants to ask, but he really does _not_ want to have to answer any of the questions Juliet might follow up with. Even if he didn't know that she genuinely believes what he said about having a psychic feeling, he wouldn't want to add in the real truth that _yeah, I do really want to see him, I want to talk to him and know how he's doing_ —

He just doesn't want to hear the questions. He's been taking any chance to avoid those kind of questions ever since he started dating her because... if she asks, then he has to tell her the truth. And even just a simple truth will lead to more _questions_ , which will lead to the whole truth, which will take way too long to explain, if nothing else.

Skirting around the truth barely counts as lying, right? Compared to his false persona of a psychic that's lasted for years, it's nothing.

It would also have to include plenty of things that are rightfully between Lassiter and himself, so Shawn thinks it fits into the whiter area of his grey morality.

After Juliet signs out they agree to go out for a sort of brunch-date before she heads into work, and Shawn feels vaguely relieved that they're taking separate vehicles. And for a second _that_ makes him feel a stab of guilt because shouldn't be feeling that way about his girlfriend in _any_ scenario—

But the first three seconds of tailing behind her in his motorcycle remind him why there's nothing wrong with wanting to ride alone.

 

*

 

Shawn finds himself having a fairly easy time taking Kate and Chavo's footage from various cameras and putting it together with his own. Watching nearly every existing piece of cinema made between 1980 and 2005 seems to have given him an eye for this sort of thing.

Maybe he should actually get into the filmmaking business.

That train of thought carries on and keeps him oddly focused on editing for a couple hours or so—before he makes it to the point in the other night when Lassie started making confessions to the camera.

He has half a mind to hold down the delete button and just get rid of it right then, but the cinematic part of his brain has a vision of this documentary—and this confession is in that vision. Without it there's no explanation of where Lassie went other than hearsay, and even with the footage of all of them reacting, his disappearance would seem way too contrived.

But he also doesn't want to deal with it right now. It's inevitable that he'll have to watch the scene and _rewatch_ it a handful of times to get it right, but just... not now.

Feeling as though this part of the documentary has shown up like a checkpoint—to cue him, that is, Shawn hastily saves his work on imovie and leaves to the hospital.

Somehow he expects there to be resistance when he tries to sign in, but why would there be? It's the middle of the day. Visiting hours aren't even close to being over. Maybe he just _hopes_ that it won't be as easy as walking in and saying "I'm here to visit Carlton Lassiter" and getting a room number.

And he wishes that they would ask for an I.D., just to know that they won't let just _anyone_ go in and visit a hospitalized detective, least of all _him_ —the guy probably has over a hundred people who'd love to take advantage of the situation to get revenge and _kill him_ —

And Shawn knows, when he gives it just a little bit of thought, that they almost certainly _don't_ let just anyone in. They simply recognize him from earlier.

He just wants a delay because he's fucking nervous.

As it turns out, he still gets one: When he finds the room, Lassiter is still asleep. So now _he_ has time to sit there by the guy's bedside, like he's—

Like he's a friend, is all. Which they are! It's not like he's going to watch him sleep or hold his hand.

He's _not_ going to do that.

What he _does_ do is pull up a chair and grab the remote to change it from whatever boring garbage Lassie had it on before. The little hospital TV up on the wall doesn't get many channels, but he settles for reruns of Spongebob.

Then he only gets through about ten minutes of that before he hears—

"Spencer?"

And his head snaps over faster than he can think. "Lassie, you're awake! It's about time, or else you'd have missed Doodlebob, one of the most iconic episodes of _anything_ of all time—I know because it's the second-part to this one, where Spongebob is forced to work at the Chum Bucket—"

"What are you doing here, Spencer?" Lassiter asks sternly, and with a bit of a cough.

Shawn's smile falters. "Well, I _was_ sitting and watching this, but now I'm standing and walking to the sink because you sound like you need some water, my friend."

Probably taken off guard by the kindness, Lassiter says nothing else until Shawn hands him a little paper cup full of tap water.

"Um... thanks."

Shawn can't tell whether he sounds more cautious or pleasantly surprised.

"So why are you actually here, Spencer?" he asks a few moments later, voice clearer now that he's swallowed some water. He's also repositioned the bed so that he can sit up and look directly at him without putting any stress on his shoulder.

"Because you'd do the same for me," Shawn says a little too quickly (and teasingly? It certainly earns him a glare). "What, a guy can't visit his... co-worker-slash-friend-slash-whatever after he gets hospitalized?"

He laughs like it's a ridiculous question to begin with, but Lassiter narrows his eyes in a sort of look that says, _sure, 'a guy' can, but we both know this isn't that simple. It's never that simple with us._

Then his expression drops almost entirely before Lassiter actually responds.

"You know what, I get it. You need to heal, you want some peace and quiet—consider me gone."

"No— _don't_." Lassiter sounds halfway in-between frustrated and sympathetic, and Shawn wonders for a moment if the hurt was obvious on his face as he stood up. "Dammit, Spencer, I don't want... I'm not telling you to leave. I actually don't mind the company, I'm just... surprised that it's you, is all."

He looks away, then, likely trying to avoid too much eye contact or otherwise making things awkward. And then he seems to realize that he really does _not_ want to watch Spongebob.

"Change it to something else, would you," he tells him.

Shawn promptly turns the TV off, suddenly overtaken by some... panic? Whatever it is, it's got his chest feeling intense—and then much more so when the other man looks at him in confusion.

"Listen—" This is already feeling like a bad idea, but it's too late. He takes a breath and tries to make it seem natural. "I came here to apologize, Lassie."

 _Now_ he looks surprised. And genuinely confused, and almost uncomfortable.

"What for?"

"What do you mean 'what for?' For getting you shot and—and... _bear-trapped in the ankle_ , Lassie... I'm taking initiative, alright? I'm trying to be mature here and own up to the fact that it's _my_ fault you were in that forest... and I am sorry for putting you through all that. I don't need forgiveness or anything, I just wanted to let you know—"

"There's nothing to forgive in the first place, Spencer, because I don't blame you." Shawn looks up at that, and Lassiter sighs. "I really don't, okay? Had we not gone out there and discovered the bodies, the Serbs would still be out there too—hell, they probably would have killed those college kids, who would've been alone. That's five 'missing people' whose cases might have never been solved... Instead we have four wounded people who are all going to survive and three now-closed cases. I say you did me and several other people a favor, Shawn."

He doesn't know whether he's more surprised to hear Lassiter give him that kind of credit, or to hear Lassiter say his name.

He does, however, easily know which one brightens his mood more. Because knowing that the guy doesn't _blame_ him doesn't really ease the guilt of essentially being the reason for the pain he's in.

Ironically enough, as though reading his mind just then, Lassiter adds:

"Besides, along with my unusually high tolerance for pain, I have a steady stream of morphine pumping into my bloodstream as we speak, Spencer. I'm good for action as soon as Vick lets me."

Shawn immediately remembers the confession footage—and he wonders if Lassie himself remembers. But there's no way in the world to ask if he does without a significant risk that he'll be told to leave immediately after.

"Oh," is what he says instead. Staring at Lassiter upright in a hospital bed still makes his stomach tighten the way it did when he first watched the footage. "Well, I guess you could hop around on one foot if you wanted. I'm sure you'd get the hang of it quickly—criminals would be _more_ intimidated, probably, if not too confused to decide what to do next..."

While Shawn retains a straight face, he catches Lassiter's lips quirking into a tiny smile. Maybe it's just the morphine.

He expects the other man to say something like "alright, you got your stupid apology out, now leave me alone," but Lassiter does nothing of the sort. In fact, he looks directly at him and holds the smile.

Probably still because of the morphine, Shawn tells himself. (Not because he _hopes_ so, but because he'd rather not get his hopes _up_.)

"Mind turning the TV back on, now? But not to Spongebob."

So he does, and he sets it to FX. And Lassiter still doesn't ask him to leave—or even ask _when_ he's leaving.

And Shawn just sits there in silence. For a few minutes, at least, before thinking—

"Hey, Lassie."

"Hm?" He doesn't even seem the slightest bit annoyed when he turns. _Definitely_ the morphine.

(Shawn thinks he could probably _kiss_ Lassie right now and thanks to morphine he'd barely react, let alone badly. He'd kiss back without question.)

(Shawn is _not_ going to do that.)

"We have matching scars now," he tells him. "I just realized... We could probably stand front-to-back and match up the entry wounds perfectly."

He immediately sticks his hand under the collar of his shirt to touch his own scar and gauge exactly where it is, and then mentally compares it to where the bullet must have come out of Lassiter's shoulder.

And Lassiter himself actually almost laughs, like he finds it even more amusing than Shawn does.

"Ha—we do match, don't we? Or we will, when this actually heals..."

"Yeah. I guess we'll see."

"Hm."

As though he's hit another checkpoint (maybe he's just been playing too many video games lately), Shawn realizes that he's gotten everything he wanted out of this visit—and too much more. He isn't sure how long he can spend around an uninhibited, perfectly amicable Lassiter with things already out in the open like this before someone does something that constitutes cheating or, worse, taking advantage.

"...I think I've bothered you enough, Lassie," he says with a small, resolute nod as he stands.

Lassiter doesn't grab him or vocally protest, but he looks... sad. Only for a moment, really—but it's enough to make Shawn pause.

And _god dammit_ , he doesn't know what else to do when he can tell that the man wants him to stay but won't _say_ it, and when he wants to stay but _can't_ , and when this is the one time he can be _sure_ Lassiter won't get upset, and when he genuinely _just wants to_ —

Shawn bends, holds Lassie's cheek lightly, and presses his lips to his forehead, right below his hairline, and then stands back up casually.

"Catch you on the flip-side, Lass."

He's almost certain he hears the man mutter "see you" before he leaves the room.


End file.
